h him; few know how closely drawn together are
the occupants of a frontier post; but the common joy, although
dampened, was not destroyed, and civilities were tendered to the
captain and officers of the boat, who were real gentlemen, and became
great favorites at the fort. They came again the next year, perhaps
more than once, and pleasant excursion parties on the boat relieved
the monotony of fort life.

The steamboat was the topic of conversation for a long time. The day
of its arrival became an era from which we reckoned, and those of the
first occupants of Fort Snelling who still survive, can scarcely
recall a more delightful reminiscence than the arrival of the first
steamboat, in the summer of 1823. Years passed away, childhood with
its lightheartedness gave way to youth, and that again to womanhood,
and then came middle life with its many cares, its griefs, its joys
too, and its unnumbered mercies, with bright anticipations of a
blessed rest from toil and pain,--when on one pleasant summer day in
1864, I find myself, with a party of friends who have come to visit
Fort Snelling and its many interesting surroundings, standing, side by
side with my mother, on the bastion of the fort, recalling days and
scenes gone by. Leaning against the railing, and contemplating the
river, so beautiful from that height, she remarked to me: "Can you
remember, my child, when the first steamboat came up this river?" I
answered, "Yes, oh yes! most distinctly do I remember it." And then we
talk of the event, and recall the many pleasant things connected with
it, when, lo! a whistle, and the loud puffing and snorting of the iron
horse! Captain Newson, standing near and listening to our
conversation, exclaimed, pointing over to Mendota, "And there goes the
first train of cars that ever started out from Fort Snelling!"

Hushed and breathless, we gaze at the fast vanishing train, feeling,
as we stand there, we two, alone, of all who saw that other great
event, _over forty years ago_, like links connecting the buried past
with the living present. And we would fain weep as we think of those
who stood beside us then, now long since passed away--but living,
loving friends are about us, and we will not let our sadness mar their
pleasure; so down in the depth of our hearts we hide these tender
recollections, to indulge in when we are alone. I look long at the
beautiful river, and think, as it ripples and laughs in the sunlight,
that, could our